


Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

by welzes



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welzes/pseuds/welzes
Summary: Lucilius and Belial find themselves in the space between dimensions. Unbeknownst to them, neither is from the same dimension.





	1. Chapter 1

It's dark when he opens his eyes, so much so that he wonders if he ever opened them. He blinks once, then twice, and that's the end of that mystery. Bringing a hand up to his face, he grins in a lopsided fashion.

He can't see a damned thing.

With all the grace of a blind bat, he rolls over and onto his knees. The floor beneath his palms is cold and smooth, so flawless that he can't feel where one tile ends and the next tile begins. Crawling through the darkness, his journey is cut short when the tips of his fingers touch something sharp and a deep, guttural voice grouses at him.

"What are you doing?"

His body jolts from the familiar rush of hearing Lucilius' sinfully apathetic voice. At the same time, his awkward grin freezes in place as he lifts his head to peer up at Lucilius.

He still can't see a damned thing!

Instead, he says, "What are you, an owl? It's so dark in here that I can't see a thing."

Silence greets him.

This isn't unusual. Lucilius has never been one for small talk. As far as Belial is concerned, this blatant ignoring is par for the course and, actually, preferred for the thrilling opportunity to chase him down for an extra word or two. Of course, this is a little difficult to do when they're both wrapped in the blackest darkness he's ever seen in his whole life (and he's no stranger to blindfolds).

"Hey, Cilius," he starts, "throw me a bone here. I'm on my fours, begging, like a good boy. I deserve a treat, don't you think?"

Somewhere above him, Lucilius exhales slowly.

"By the way, what shoes are those? Last I checked, you haven't bought a new pair in four years. Pointed toes? I could've stabbed my eye out just now. Then I'd really be as blind as I feel," says Belial.

"Shut up," replies Lucilius.

Belial sits up straight, grinning from ear to ear. Those words are music to his ears.  
  


* * *

  
There's nothing here.

In all the time he's sat around in the inky darkness, he's felt two things: the floor and Lucilius' shoes. Earlier, he'd attempted to snake his hand up a pale calf, and for his efforts he’d been kicked in the face. No matter how far he dares to adventure, there's nothing else.

He discovered that within an hour of his awakening. In fact, he'd nearly walked straight off the edge if not for the strong grip on the back of his jacket hauling him back onto the even flooring.

Turns out, there's an uncharted drop within three meters around them. Whether Belial is curious enough or not to dive in and find out just how deep the drop is, is irrelevant. After rescuing him the first time, Lucilius had all but threatened to break his legs if he were to make a second attempt at wandering off.

"If you want to fall that much, surely you won't need legs where you're going," he'd said.

"So you don't know where the drop goes, either? And not a clue around to tip us off on what we're supposed to be doing. If this is an escape room, it's not very good," Belial had replied.

"Escape," Lucilius had echoed then. "How idiotic."

If Lucilius thinks he doesn't need legs, then it's probably true. So Belial sits on the nearest edge he can find and lets those same legs dangle, whistling a tune.

"What are you doing?" asks Lucilius.

Belial grins at the familiar tone of exasperation.

"Why, Cilius, what does it look like I'm doing? I thought you'd appreciate my whistling. You always say that I don't practice nearly enough."

Lucilius deadpans, "That infernal whistling?"

"My singing, of course. Every time I joke about forgetting the lyrics, you make this amazing face. Makes me wish I really could forget."

"Can't you?"

"How can I? Those are the lyrics you wrote." With his right index finger, Belial taps his temple. "Every single word, it's all there."

He counts to ten, then resumes whistling when Lucilius remains silent.  
  


* * *

  
And then, so suddenly that he nearly doesn't believe what he's seeing, there is something.

Like a glow-in-the-dark action figure, a gentle glow surrounds Lucilius. In this state, Belial can see everything from the pointed boots to the haphazard stitch marks (what a piss-poor job; who did that?) on an ashen neck—and, of course, the tousled hair complementing a myriad of injuries on an overall very battered body.

Either Lucilius shacked up with someone who likes to play rough, or someone recently beat him black and blue in a forsaken alley for being too beautiful. Arching an eyebrow, Belial climbs onto his feet.

When Lucilius turns his way, Belial asks with mirth, "What are you wearing?"

"What are _you_ wearing?" asks Lucilius, not in the least sounding interested.

The light gradually grows, never reaching the point of brightness that would blind Belial while providing a better view of the scene. There isn't much to see. As he suspected, the floor under their feet is a seamless platform that breaks off around the edges like a broken cracker. Beyond that, there's nothing but a darkness so pervasive that he can't tell if it's a ten- or thousand-foot drop.

It's just him, the floor, and Lucilius in a cheap Halloween costume. Heat pools in Belial's lower region as he tugs at the lapel of his jacket.

"Why don't you come and undress me, so you can see for yourself?" he asks, to which Lucilius kicks him in the shin.

With a yelp, Belial collapses onto the floor. His leg feels like it's on fire; hugging it, he curls into a ball. Since when did Lucilius learn to kick so hard? Before, it was no worse than getting slapped by a disgruntled cat. The pain he feels now is as if he'd been slammed into by a motorcycle!

Shocked beyond belief, he can only laugh weakly. He's still hot and bothered, if not more so.

"Y-you could have stabbed my kneecap with those shoes . . . Take it easy on me, why don't you?"

Through teary eyes, Belial watches while Lucilius closes his eyes and turns away with a grumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't obvious, Belial is from an alternate universe based on the band art for Paradise Lost and Chaos. Lucilius is his lyricist.
> 
> This is a plot bunny that refused to leave until I'd jotted something down, but I'm not really sure where to take it beyond the preliminary concept (if I even do). Belial will soon learn that Lucilius is supremely grumpy and prone to ignoring him most times, only to hyperfixate on him at others. This is because Lucilius figured out his identity right away, sparking intrigue.
> 
> The gradual visibility was done by Lucilius out of curiosity for Belial's behavioral response. He personally doesn't need the light to see everything.


	2. Chapter 2

“So why the change in shoes?” asks Belial, splayed out on his back on the unearthly platform.

“It wasn’t my choice,” says Lucilius, in as flat of a tone as ever.

“Really? Was it someone else’s choice to leave you so exposed, too?”

“Clearly.”

They go back and forth like this. Belial tosses a vapid question, and Lucilius returns an equally anemic answer. It doesn’t trouble Belial, who can watch Lucilius stare off into the inky darkness for hours. No amount of music from all around the world can rival the stimulating resonance of Lucilius’ voice, anyway.

This close, the tattered ends of Lucilius’ waistcloth nearly brush against the tips of Belial’s own shoes. As he wracks his brain for another question, Belial absentmindedly toes the fabric and watches it sway in the dim light wrapped around Lucilius’ body. He cracks a grin when Lucilius takes an ever slight step to the side.

“Hey, do you—”

“You’re noisy,” says Lucilius, and Belial cranes his neck to find that the former’s eyes have closed, presumably in concentration—for what, who can say?

Sitting up, Belial chuckles.

“Wow, you are unbelievably grumpy today.” He pats the empty space next to him. “Why don’t you sit down? If you’re in need of relaxation, I know just the remedy.”

Lucilius’ eyes open. They don’t flutter. It’s a decisive gesture that speaks more for him than his words as he turns his piercing gaze on Belial: “Do you.”

“Oh, I _do_. As I was saying, all you have to do is . . . ” Belial trails off when Lucilius promptly takes a seat next to him. Awkward as ever, Lucilius doesn’t face him. “ . . . sit down. For all your mixed signals, you sure are eager, aren’t you?”

“And you never cease talking,” says Lucilius, all but huffing as he twists at the hip and grabs Belial by the jaw. “Relaxation, you say? Perfect timing. You’ll be my experiment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have very different ideas of what relaxation is.


End file.
